


The History of a Promised Princess

by HeavyShoegaze



Series: Ashara raises Jon Snow [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And her name is Alyssa, Female Jon Snow, Inspired by Fire and Blood, Jon was raised by Ashara, Multi, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 22:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavyShoegaze/pseuds/HeavyShoegaze
Summary: After a lifetime of adventures, Grand Maester Samwell writes the history of his closest friend, a bastard girl who would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and save the world. The history of Alyssa Snow.Inspired by Fire and Blood.





	The History of a Promised Princess

A History of a Promised Princess Prologue

 

The day I set off on this endeavor began much like most these days, with a heated debate among my pupils. Well into the winter of my life – and _there_ is a phrase I had grown far too familiar with, I must say – I laid on my chaise with twenty (I think?) students surrounding me. My sight had long left me for parts unknown and my hearing had expressed an eager desire to follow him, and so I enjoyed listening to the next generation of mutton-heads, boors, pompous idiots, and the occasional scholars blindly stumble towards some pretense of wisdom. That particular day they chose to debate none other than the nature of history itself. Ha! An old blind Grand Maester could hardly watch tumbling dwarves, so I made do with what I had!

You see, among our sacred duties we maesters describe history has changed as we catalogue, transcribe, and otherwise commit the storied history of our realms to the written word upon the parchment page, so the progeny may learn from both our triumphs and our failures. But as we read the lessons of our forebears it is incumbent upon us to recall that the men who wrote these words were of flesh and bone, not merely disembodied chains of metal. And so we must not just analyze what they wrote but also _why_ they wrote what they wrote, what they chose to omit, and whether we now read the full truth or just one man’s version. For though I would gladly read Archmaester Tiston’s recount of the marriage of Prince Daeron Targaryen and Princess Mariah Martell, perhaps the conception of Daeron the Good’s famous Blackfyre rival is best left to the fool Pillody, who graced the court of the Dragon Kings with ribalds and bawdy jests from the reign of Daeron the First until after the reign of Daeron the Second.

And so the question was posed to us men of learned minds by none other than the Crown Prince himself, Baelon of the House Blackfyre-Targaryen, was simple. “Is history writ by great men, or are great men writ by history?”

We had been speaking of the Age of Heroes, a time of Lann the Clever and Garth Greenhand, of Bran the Builder and Durran Durrandon and the Grey King and Symeon Star-Eyes. Great men all of them, and as we come to more recent history, we tend to think of history as the result of the actions of great men: the first Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel, Daeron the Young Dragon, Daemon Blackfyre. Even the history of my own lifetime has been writ through the actions of men as recent as Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister, Eddard Stark and Robb Stark, Stannis Baratheon and Roose Bolton and Walder Frey and my own father, Lord Randyll Tarly, the second Conquering Aegon, the Dragon Queen, and finally our King, Jaehaerys I Blackfyre-Targaryen. But Prince Baelon challenged that view – for once, these discussions proved worthy of something beyond my own laughter! He asked if mayhaps in our recollection we ascribe to these fine men what was the result of a myriad of choices, of ideas and trends and movements that divided the Realm through war and brought her back together through peace.

What a question. It speaks to the learnedness of the Crown Prince to propose such a debate, almost as much as it speaks to my pupils’ lackwittedness that no such debate followed. I fear I had little to contribute either, for his choice of words forced me to ponder the young Prince’s grandmother, and I came to the unfortunate realization that I had been derelict in my duties as Grand Maester and as a friend, for I allowed to be canonized by other hands and other words what only I could dare trust myself to recount with the clarity and honesty necessary.

“And you, Maester Sam,” the Prince asked, when no student of mine dared reply, “is history writ by great men?”

“No,” I said simply. “Sometimes it is writ by great women too.”

And thus begins the history of perhaps the strangest and most incredible woman I have ever known. A woman of contradictions. A bastard born with her own Queensguard and a Princess who rode horses, ships, elephants, and dragons. An arbiter of truth and a shameless conniver. A woman who never sat on the Iron Throne yet ruled the Seven Kingdoms for forty years. A woman whose Aunt was her mother, whose father was her uncle, whose sire a dead Prince, and whose mother was by blood a stranger. A woman thrice loved- by a Darkstar, a Crow's Eye, and finally a Black Dragon. A woman who took both men and women to bed, who was taught the arts of seduction, love, and pleasure by a Braavosi courtesan and brought peace to the North by stealing a wildling Princess, yet who nearly took my eye out when I dared ask she humor my brother’s clear affections for her. A woman considered by many to be the most beautiful woman in the world yet spent much of the time I knew her wearing boys’ clothing and covered in dirt. A woman who learned deception from the Spider yet was the most honest person I’ve known. A woman who sailed with maddest pirate in the Known World to the most forsaken, damned lands known to man yet had to be dragged from her bed every morning. A woman well-travelled and well-learned. A woman taught the dark arts of Qohor and Gogossos and Asshai-by-the-Shadow who could still never manage a proper curtsey. A woman who lived her life with a book in one hand and a sword in another. A woman who could match Olenna Redwyne word for word and one-handed Jaime Lannister blow for blow. A Mistress of Whispers who laughed louder than the GreatJon of Last Hearth. A woman descended from two of the most storied bloodlines in the history of the Seven Kingdoms yet till her dying day saw herself as the daughter of a small House in Dorne. A woman who rigged an election in Volantis _so that she would lose._ A spitfire of a woman whose silences were the most meaningful. A Dornish girl with a Northern surname and barely more than a drop of Nymeria’s blood in her veins. A woman who could hold a grudge for a hundred years yet fell over herself to forgive. A woman who nearly started another Dance of Dragons before ending it by marrying into her family’s most hated adversary. A woman who hated her husband the day she married him yet died with him, hand-in-hand, in their bed as their twelve children and half of Westeros wept around them. A woman whose marriage contained battles that rivalled the War of the Five Kings in their ferocity yet also was likely consummated in every room in the Red Keep, most likely even atop the Iron Throne itself – watering the metal monstrosity in something other than blood for once. A woman who could cow Ser Barristan the Bold and the Sword of the Morning with a look yet could never convince her cousin to chew with his mouth closed. A woman who, when accused by Lord Farman of opening her bed to her own _mother_ , famously replied that _by blood, Lady Ashara Dayne is not my mother, my Lord_. A woman who saw a giant in a dwarf and a hero in a fat craven. A woman who delivered the Realm from the apocalypse and brought us the longest peace we have known.

And above all a skinny girl named Alyssa Snow who was my dearest friend in the world.

With only the promises that the history I weave is true where it is true and an enjoyable enough read everywhere else, here begins the tale of Princess Alysanne Blackfyre-Targaryen, by Grand Maester Samwell.

_Incidentally, I can say with the surety that I can say my own Lord father would have made good on his threat to arrange for my “hunting accident” unless I renounce claim to Horn Hill and Heartsbane that Alyssa’s closeness with the Lady of Starfall was nothing more than that of a daughter and her beloved Lady mother. On the other hand, the nature of her relations with her Aunt, Queen Daenerys, is again best left to the ribald jests of the fools. Though I can personally confirm that their most scandalous assertions have more than an inkling of truth in them, and I quickly learned to knock before I entered any room, bedchamber of council one._

**Author's Note:**

> This is a different kind of story structure from what I normally use. I was inspired by the pop history style of Fire and Blood, which you should definitely read. It's really good.
> 
> Consider this a pilot. A pitch for a story idea. I'm very good at those, less good at following up, lol. 
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you think!


End file.
